


Risen

by tome



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: AU, Angst, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Multiple, Reunions, Trauma, What-If, healing is not magical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tome/pseuds/tome
Summary: The Messiah was always destined to return.And so, five years later, she did.





	1. Rebirth/Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a phoenix is reborn from the ashes / a ghost hunter finds a spectral

All things considered, Minako Arisato's “afterlife” was peaceful.

Everything and nothing all at once. Blank space and infinite colors. Though the call of Erebus and The Fall clawed and tugged at the barbed chain that encircled her, Minako still stood, tall and impenetrable even without a body to her form, between it and the world.

Unchanging, until a tingle nestled itself on the edge of her essence.

It was hard to say if time existed in normal means in her plane; Minako wasn't ever sure if she had been there minutes or decades. But that tingling, it was rattling all facets of her limited senses for hours, surely. An itch she could never scratch. Not at all pleasant, almost painful, and settled on one particular spot she couldn't ever point out. How ever much time she had been there, Minako had adjusted to her formlessness. Feeling anything was novel. Perhaps she would appreciate it more if this particular sensation didn't stab her with a hundred knives.

Was it possible for souls to squirm? She believed she had a strong case for it.

The itch burned and gnawed at her until, _finally_ , she willed a scratch.

 _Hair._ She was feeling hair. And her hair was feeling _her_ right back; fingers, _her fingers_ scratched and massaged over her entire scalp, and the relief crashed down on her in a beautiful, wonderful wave. She felt like she could breathe again, so she did, taking in a sharp gasp.

Minako stared at her hands for a moment before pressing them together. Her palms were cold, unnaturally so, prompting her to explore elsewhere. She followed the skin with her fingertips until she was led up to the soft curve of a shoulder, the smoothness of a neck leading into the hard edge of a jaw. She prodded her newfound face all over, squeezing her nose and smoothing her eyebrows. It was flat and featureless where her mouth and eyes should have been, but she somehow felt them there regardless.

Her hands found their way back into her auburn hair, fingering through the strands and lifting them in front of her. It had never been longer; if Minako had a waist, she supposed it would reach there.

Her home was even colder than her, she realized as she shuddered. Goosebumps peppered her flesh.

The sudden breeze didn't help.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. A breeze? In a void? Minako could _feel_ the space around her shift and twist with something new, as if the plane was an extension of her body. The chains that floated around her emitted a low hum that vibrated through her, but over that a different noise reverberated.

 _Clack, clack, clack,_ like shoes to marble that echoed throughout the empty space despite lacking the air to carry it.

“We meet again, my darling,” came a light, airy voice over the echoing.

Minako went rigid, covering her bare chest with her arms. That voice…

A figure approached her. Bathed in the white light that surrounded all of this plane, Minako could make out a vibrant yellow scarf and smiling, piercing blue eyes made just for her.

“Ryoji-kun?”

She had no mouth to speak with until then. Her voice, unused and all but forgotten, came out in a harsh whisper. Still, Ryoji Mochizuki smiled even more widely at her.

“So fate has decided,” he chuckled, his eyes shining brightly as he gave her a little bow. “You’re as radiant as the day we met, Minako-chan.”

Minako blinked--she could blink?--and stared down at her newly formed toes, flexing them experimentally. “How did you…”

“The short answer is your friend helped me,” he said, his voice and grin betraying nothing. “The white-haired man in blue. He had been seeking me out for a long time.” There was a wistfulness in his sparkling eyes as he laughed through his nose. “He was working on a way to free you. Tirelessly, I might add.”

_Free me?_

Minako blinked again, salty tears stinging the rims of her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but found the words catching in her throat.

“You don't have to understand, my dearest,” Ryoji said, soft and tender. “I don't understand all of it myself. One moment asleep, the next in a very blue room.” He shrugged, carefree and amused. “But when your friend told me freeing you would require my help, well… I can't think of any better use of my time than to spend it with you.”

“So that's why you're here.” She shook her head as if to wake herself. “I never thought I'd…” Were it not for the chains holding her up and Ryoji's proximity breathing a new life into her, she would have collapsed beneath the weight of her rediscovered loneliness.

_It's too cold and too quiet here._

“I suspect I can reach you because of our connection. Your _… nosy_ friend implied as much.”

Minako's mouth trembled into a smile. “Theo… and Igor?”

Ryoji's own smile had never been warmer. “You're still his favorite guest, you know. He wanted me to tell you that.”

Her laughter took her by surprise, coming out choked and half a sob. “Tell him it was an honor.”

He mirrored her laugh without the tears--it had always been so similar to her own, she realized. “I'm afraid I can't.”

Minako didn't follow, and she figured her expression told Ryoji as much. His face turned serious and focused as he looked at her.

“When I came here to meet you… I made no plans to leave.”

“You… you're going to stay with me?” she whispered, a loud pounding in her ears and tears spilling onto her cheeks. Until she had felt Ryoji with her, there was no melancholy. She had shut it off somewhere down the line. Her sacrifice was too great, too important to think of such things. But he'd offered her water in a drought, and the thought of going back was almost more than she could bear.

Minako recoiled internally at her own weakness. After all this time--or was it none at all?--she was still human.

Why was he doing this to her?

Unaware of her turmoil, his smile returned. He brushed her hair behind her ears with his fingertips, effortlessly breaching the chains that surrounded her. “No, my dear. You'll be leaving instead.”

She didn't know if she had a heart again, but if she did, it would have stopped.

Ryoji cupped her face in both hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “That's the solution. To set you free, I will take your place.”

“Oh, Ryoji-kun…” she gasped, hand over her mouth and eyes wide with more unshed tears. “I can’t just--” He shushed her gently and shook his head.

“I can think of no better purpose for my life except to allow you to live yours in freedom. That thought… knowing I can do that…” he laughed, mostly to himself it seemed, “no other thing could bring me such joy, my dearest.”

Mind reeling around itself over and over again, she shook her head back at him. Her words stumbled out of her, “This… this isn't yours to bear. I can't--” Minako shook her head again with even more vigor. “I can't ever ask you… I _chose_ this. I'm not trapped here. I don't need to be freed.”

“Ah,” Ryoji sighed, his eyelids fluttering shut. “There’s the beauty I've always found in you, Minako-chan. You shine so brightly,” he whispered in breathless reverence.

 _“Ryoji,”_ Minako said, stern and stiff, “I died for this.”

He chuckled. “In body, yes, but _you_ are very much alive. Hence the new one.” Ryoji gestured at her up and down.

She realized just how _warm_ her skin felt despite being nude, no longer frigid and lifeless as it was at first. Sickly grey was now hued with a soft pink. A pulse beat at her wrists, threatening to burst free from the thin, pale skin that covered it.

“Do you remember your friends, Minako-chan?” Ryoji asked, breaking her reverie.

At his words, Minako's heart swelled. Laughing with Junpei, shopping with Yukari and Mitsuru, cooking with Fuuka and Shinjiro, walking Koro-chan with Ken and Aigis…

 _Aki._ Training with him, holding and being held by him, whispering together well into the night, laying next to each other, listening to his heart beat in her ear…

 _How could I ever forget the people I died for?_ That was what she wanted to say, but instead she gave an incredulous laugh. “Always.”

“Everyone dies,” Ryoji said, chipper and light. “But sometimes, the connections we form with others can gift us, or them, with more time.” He absently ran his fingers through her hair. “You did this to save your friends--and they know it now, too. Before that, you saved Shinjiro-senpai by reaching out to him. Junpei and Chidori, of course, saved each other the same way.” His hands dropped to his sides, grin doubling in size. “And now I'll do _this_ for you.”

The light that surrounded him vanished, his form turning a deep inky black that seemed to consume any brightness that touched him. Slowly, Ryoji's body bubbled, twisted, and grew in an amorphous sludge until it towered over her. A harsh clatter of metal and chains came from within until suddenly, bursting forth, was the avatar of Death itself. He stood tall, all-black save for white gloves and boots, sword sheathed at his side, coffins lining his back, and a formless head shielded by a silver skull helmet. Even without wind, the tail-end of his black coat fluttered behind him.

He outstretched his arm towards her, and for a brief moment Minako thought he would strike. But no--the barbed chain encircling her froze, the pause heavy and sending her heart pounding in her ears.

The humming she had grown familiar with grew louder, swelling until the crescendo forced her to shield her hearing. The chain jerked back to life, but not in the same way--Ryoji gripped it and yanked with a ghastly roar, sending a cacophony of hisses and clatters as the yoke was ripped from off her.

Slowly, as if it needed a moment of recovery, the bind snaked itself around his arm, up his neck, and in the space around him until the orbit encompassed him in a circular cocoon.

The same cocoon she had just been in.

It hit her, then, like a train to her chest: whatever he was doing to release her was almost complete. Minako reached out for him, screaming.

“Ryoji-kun, I--!”

Her vision plunged into darkness.

Ryoji's voice rang out in her head, smiling and chirping as pleasant as ever, “Live gloriously, my heart.”

Blue.

Minako blinked her eyes, once, twice before sitting up. The sky was blue and cloudless today, with the sun tilting west and bathing her in a gentle warmth. A small breeze brushed her hair into her face, tickling her nose and prompting her to tuck it behind her ear.

The ground was cold beneath her, despite her new, simple sleeveless white dress covering her down to her knees. To her side, benches and flowers caught her eye as well as the calm, glimmering ocean in the distance.

 _The rooftop._ Minako would recognize it any time. She had woken up on the rooftop of Gekkoukan High School.

_Ryoji._

The image of him taking her shackle, still raw in her mind, weighed down her very soul. She was no stranger to sacrifice, but it was another thing entirely to have been reliant on another's. It was a burden she had no idea how to carry, only with the words _“Live gloriously”_ to guide her.

 _I didn't get to thank him. I didn't get to say goodbye._ The realization wrenched her like a blade in her gut, twisting and dragging all the way across in a harsh, jerky movement. She swallowed the dark sickness of guilt, but the tickle of its acidic bile was persistent in the back of her throat.

Minako's pulse hammered in her ears as she scrambled to her feet. Barefoot, she realized when the chilly cement sent a shiver from her toes up her spine.

As she looked over the entirety of Port Island--bright, shining, peaceful--tears welled in her eyes. The view had never captivated her more, but as she beheld it, only one thought rang out in her mind:

_What do I do now?_

Despite her growing panic, despite the unworthiness she felt to witness such beauty again, the gears were turning in her head. She'd often been called a natural improviser, and if there was ever a time to show it…

Her first step was to contact the Kirijo Group, no question. With Mitsuru on her side, everything else would surely fall into place. But what were the steps before the first? No contacts, no money, no _shoes_ … Minako wracked her brain--

_Officer Kurosawa._

Of _course!_ Without his help, SEES wouldn't have stood a chance against the Dark Hour-- even more importantly, there was great trust between them. Surely he'd understand why a dead woman needed to speak with the CEO of the Kirijo Group. Right?

But an odd, sobering realization hit her: she didn't even know the date.

How much time had passed? If her hair was anything to go by, it had at least been years. Certainly it was possible Kurosawa had moved on from the simple little station in the mall, especially with Tartarus no longer looming over the island.

Still, Minako's eyes immediately locked onto the domed outline of Paulownia Mall. _I bet I still know the way._

She released a small breath and nodded to herself, pushing the smiling, kind Ryoji to the shadowy depths of her mind for now.

Descending the stairs from the rooftop with light steps, Minako realized the school wasn't empty. In fact, it was more full than usual, with parents and students lining the halls chattering wildly and eating snacks. Some sort of event was clearly going on today, but that was fine by her; she could walk by unnoticed by the crowds this way.

Finally reaching the last step of the last flight of stairs, she entered the main lobby of the building. No one was there, save for a student posted at the school store idly reading a textbook. Minako made quick strides over the tile, immediately heading for the bulletin. Her hunch was right; a calendar dangled from the cork board.

_March 2015._

_I've… missed five years?_

Tingling sensations danced under her skin, jolting like electricity through her chest. It would have been naïve to think not much time had passed at all, but _half a decade?_ She fell asleep going on 18 and woke up going on 23. If her life had resembled anything normal, she'd be in her final year of college, preparing to take on a career. But no--in this bizarro world, Minako hadn't even graduated _high school._ Her mind swam, the ground spinning beneath her and throwing her off balance.

Turning quickly on her heel, Minako sped out the front doors and into the school courtyard. The ground scratched at the bare soles of her feet, but she maintained her near-sprinting stride. She'd already lost enough time.

The path Minako took for a year to and from the mall revealed itself as she sped, like it was being paved beneath her just before her feet fell into nothingness. There were others who wandered the sidewalks, holding touch-screen devices she didn't recognize and wearing clothes in ways she'd never seen. Some people stared; she was sure she looked odd, a barefoot woman sprinting with her wild hair flying behind her. Her lungs were tight in her chest, and she forced her eyes away from the panic of _everything_ to focus on the path ahead.

But ahead of her was just another distraction--Minako couldn't help but be drawn to a jogging figure's loud, vibrant red hoodie as he drew closer on the same side as her.

At least, that's what caught her at first. The next thing she noticed was the gloves he wore: black leather that she could make out easily when contrasted with the red of his top and the grey of his sweatpants.

But what trapped her, what forced her to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at the individual who hadn't noticed her yet, what sent her blood _aflame_ was his hair. Silver, with the sides cut close but the top a little longer, dangling short bangs over his forehead.

Minako didn't know it was possible for her mind to be both completely blank, yet running a kilometer per second at the same time, until the jogger stopped mere meters from her.

He was more man than boy, the lines of his features firm and hard with the entrance to adulthood. He even sported a bit of stubble. But the square bandage just above his left eye, the way he looked at her, mouth agape and grey eyes widened, like she was the only person in the world…

Despite the tears pouring from her eyes, Minako couldn't stop her smile.

* * *

Akihiko Sanada was not a superstitious man.

He was never even a superstitious _boy_. Mitsuru would have been proud of his childhood entrepreneurship; he'd seek out bets and dares to stay in allegedly haunted areas for pocket change to buy toys for Miki. Winning a challenge was a nice bonus, and maybe that's when he got addicted to the thrill. Still, he didn't care much about spirits, and he'd felt _real_ demons, the ones no one talked or knew about, disintegrate under his fists.

Why, then, in the middle of a sunny afternoon in Port Island, on the fifth anniversary of Graduation Day, was he staring at a ghost?

Akihiko had been forced to pause for women before--similar hair, a shared name, bubbling laughter that tinkled like bells--but it always only took him moments to realize it couldn't possibly be her. After all, Minako Arisato was dead, gone, and never coming back. But none had ever produced something as visceral and heart-pounding as this beautiful woman standing in front of him.

She was barefoot, with her thick auburn hair down to her waist and her sleeveless white dress billowing in the gentle wind. She looked like she had never died and aged five years with him, her features sharper and lacking the last of the baby fat once in her cheeks.

Her crimson eyes locked onto him, too similar, too striking, and Akihiko felt his skin crawl and his stomach churn. She'd seemed stunned at first, too, but slowly her lips curled into a smile he's certain he's kissed scores of times.

He remembered the Shadows in sleepy little Inaba and the labyrinth of the TV world hidden within, how they revealed the “true self.” Not long after, his late-night imaginings, ever the steadfast ally, crafted a Shadow of her. It still enjoyed to meet him again in his nightmares sometimes, _taunting_ him, hovering on the subject of _her_ with a gleeful glint in its soulless yellow eyes. This _had_ to be the same.

Or, maybe it was something a little more mundane. In his relatively short time as a detective, Akihiko was earning his fair share of enemies. It wouldn't have taken much digging for a spiteful kingpin to find out about her--Minako's sudden death had shaken the community to its core. Pay the right goons, find the right prostitute, pick the right day… hook, line, and sinker, they're reeling in one broken man.

But whichever it was, Akihiko was frozen in place, his entire body shaking. The icy vice of fear and dread clamped around his chest.

It wasn't until his lungs were burning that he realized he hadn't breathed since he laid eyes on her.

“Who are you?” he managed, his voice too broken and trembling too badly to be as commanding as he would have liked.

The woman’s smile shook as it grew wider and tears spilled over her eyelashes-- _oh,_ his heart skipped a beat. This would surely be the death of him, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t rip his gaze from her no matter how hard he tried.

“Aki,” she whispered through a tearful chuckle, and Akihiko nearly collapsed. “I’m Minako Arisato.”

A strangled noise escaped him. He was forced to stumble back a step.

Akihiko had reached a point where he could get up most days and go through them with no issues. He learned how to survive and throw himself in his routine, and from there, he felt, he was finally learning how to fulfill his promise to Minako to live fully in the name of her sacrifice.

He not only did his job as a detective, but he actually _liked_ it and used it to make the world a better place every day. And after a couple years of traveling the world avoiding everyone he used to know, he was starting to _talk_ to people again. Mitsuru, others from SEES, and even with his co-workers hanging out for an occasional drink… it was slow, but it was steady, and he felt she would be proud of him.

But staring at this woman, what Akihiko _really_ saw was all the progress he had made unraveling into nothing. Like his scars were slowly being peeled open one by one by a blunted edge. Like his heart was getting mangled and twisted all over again, only this time he had no idea if he could salvage it.

Not knowing whether to fight or run, he shook his head and raised his trembling fists, bending his knees in preparation for either. “Whatever kind of trick you are, you’ve got five seconds to get the _hell_ away from me,” he said, loud enough to cover the tremor in his voice.

The woman's face fell, causing his heart to nearly shatter despite himself. “Aki, I--”

 _“Stop,”_ he hissed, ragged and raw, his mouth pulled into a sharp snarl. His bones ached from how stricken she looked, but he quickly doubled down. “Call me that _one more time_ and I'll beat the _shit_ out of you.”

Little did whoever or whatever the _fuck_ this was know, he was going to beat the shit out of them regardless for stealing her face, but that _damned name_ had to stop. It died with Shinjiro four-and-a-half years ago.

“Ryoji-kun found me!” she blurted, shrill and quick.

Akihiko's stance faltered at yet another dead name leaving her mouth. He slightly lowered his hands as he stared at her terrified, tear-filled eyes and how she held out her palms between them as if to placate him.

“Where did you hear that name?” he demanded.

“He-he told me… he told me you knew about the Great Seal. Right?” she prompted, voice wavering.

His fists dropped to his sides like boulders, entire body buzzing with an emotion he didn't understand. “You _… can't_ know that. That's…” Unless she'd been hired by SEES, there was no way this woman was paid to break him; she was just doing it on accident.

Unphased, she continued. “That's where I was, and he… took my place, then I was here. I-I haven't been here long. I'm just…”

Akihiko slowly shook his head and took another step back.

“Ak-- _Sanada-san,”_ she whispered, her eyes shut tight and leaking more tears that he only wanted to wipe away. “I-I don't know how to prove it, but it's _me.”_

Fighting them for over half his life, Akihiko _knew_ Shadows. This… her… she wasn't one of them. Couldn't be. She was too complex, too _real_ for that. A Shadow would have resorted to violence the moment he'd raised his fists. No less traumatic, but at least it would have been simple.

Akihiko Sanada was not a superstitious man… but, he thought with a sinking sort of terror, maybe he should be.

He shook his head again more forcefully, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a strangled, helpless laugh.

“I thought…” he choked out, laughing even more at himself. “I thought I was _making_ something of my life, but here I am arguing with a ghost.”

“I’m _real,_ Sanada-san,” she said, moving closer to him. Was that concern in her eyes? He backed further away.

_“Stop it.”_

The woman shot her arms out towards him. He flinched, but relaxed when he saw her palms up. “You can touch me!” she shouted, a wild look in her eyes that almost begged with the rest of her. “Believe who I am or don’t, but I'm _here.”_

Time slowed to a halt as Akihiko stared at her hands. He recognized their scars, the callused palms from fighting a war for nearly a year. He could feel the phantom of their warmth press his chest, like Minako had loved to do a lifetime ago. His blood rushed in a thunder in his ears.

If he reached for her, there was no going back no matter what happened.

What would he do if he was right and his hand slipped through hers? What would he do if her skin was clammy and cold and _dead?_ What would he do if her eyes flashed golden and he woke up? What would he do if he held her hand and nothing happened?

He could feel tears trickling from his eyes, but he didn't bother wiping them. Despite not being able to answer any of those questions, Akihiko pulled off his gloves and reached a shaky, tentative hand for hers.

She was warm, and it set his body on fire.

She squeezed his hand gently and he suddenly found himself too weak to squeeze back, though he ached to.

He blinked, hard. She didn't vanish. Her eyes were still a brilliant red.

His gloves hit the ground.

“…Mina?” Akihiko whispered, his voice strained by his heart firmly lodged in his throat.

She nodded, a breathtaking grin suddenly about to split her blotchy, tear-covered, beautiful _, alive_ face in two.

_Minako. Minako Arisato. Here. Alive._

Akihiko didn't process pulling her into a tight embrace until she was pressed against him, nor did he realize he was sobbing until his head fell into the crook of her neck.

Minako, the _honest-to-God real,_ **_alive_ ** _Minako Arisato,_ easily wrapped herself around him, laughing with her crying.

His hands wandered in frantic circles over her back, making _sure_ she was there, as if the wind would carry her away if he didn't. He could feel her ribs shudder in gentle sobs, but she didn't feel any less _right._

He knew he was a mess; he could practically hear Shinjiro calling him a sappy crybaby. Like he gave a shit. Akihiko held Minako with a strength just short of breaking her, croaking “I missed you” into her neck over and over until the words stopped sounding real. Minako ran her fingers through his hair, stroking patterns on his scalp as she whispered the same in his ear.

He sniffed and lifted his head, needing to just look at her again. Minako smiled at him the way he had been sure he would never see again, and he _beamed_ right back. Ghosting his shaking fingers over her face, Akihiko wiped her tears away before resting his hands on her jaw.

“You grew hair,” Minako giggled, gesturing with her finger to her chin in the pattern of his stubble.

His cheeks warmed and he breathed out a chuckle. “Yeah, I uh… just wanted something new,” he said, suddenly sheepish. Minako's gaze lingered on his mouth and chin, and a certain unease coiled in his gut. “…You… you don't mind it, do you?”

Meeting his eyes again with a smile that sent his heart aflutter, she said, “I like it. It makes you look very… mature. Seems very good for tickling, too.” Minako laughed at her own little joke, _just like she always did,_ and he felt his blush deepen.

“C-c'mon, you can't just _say_ things like that,” he whined, but his growing grin betrayed his playfulness.

“But I did,” she taunted in a sing-song voice, standing on the balls of her feet to make herself closer to his face. “And there's nothing you can do about it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

She nodded with gusto, flashing him an impish grin as she wiped his tears away and wrapped her arms around his neck.

All he could do for a moment was marvel in her. It was like they had never been apart, the way they teased and held each other. His heart was fit to burst from all the joy inside it.

If there was a Heaven, Akihiko decided it had nothing on this.

Humming in mock thought, he leaned in right next to her ear and said in a low voice, “Then I guess I just have to get even.” He swooped back to her neck, chin-first, scratching at the sensitive skin with his stubble.

“A-Aki!” Minako squealed in a fit of laughter, squirming and struggling to break free from his hold around her waist to no avail. Fully distracting her there, Akihiko moved with deft hands to the spot she otherwise had constant protection of: the place right above the curve of her hips, the single most ticklish part of her body. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and Minako jumped, shrieking and collapsing against him in giggles. _Just like she always did._

It was these little things that made it all finally _real._ Akihiko laughed freely for the first time since he’d lost her. This was truly Minako Arisato, and she was _here_ , with _him,_ _alive_ _alive_ ** _alive_** in his arms.

Tears were back in his eyes, unshed as he cupped her face again and crashed his lips into hers.

He wasn't surprised that she kissed him back, but what caught him was her _hunger._ Minako had always been eager, but now she threatened to suck the soul out of him, pressing him closer with her hands to the back of his head. He moaned into her mouth, and for half a second he worried if that was off-putting. But to his delight, she responded in kind, opening her mouth against him to welcome his tongue back to hers. She still tasted like herself, too, and he was more than happy to drink her up.

Heat built up in his twisting insides, sinking lower as his excitement grew. His heart was a jackhammer about to break through his ribs. Akihiko caught his teeth briefly on her lower lip, sending his eyes fluttering underneath his eyelids. His hands wandered up and down her sides, relishing her curves and the warmth and _life_ that radiated from underneath her clothes. Minako seemed to sense his eagerness, dragging her hands down his chest before playfully tugging the strings of his grey sweatpants.

It took every ounce of Akihiko's strength and willpower to pull back and take her hands, gasping and smiling like the idiot she always turned him into.

“I, ah… sorry, I-I’m, uh… going to get _very_ carried away,” he chuckled weakly in between his heavy panting. Akihiko pressed his forehead to hers and placed her hands on the sides of his neck.

“Maybe I want you to,” she murmured, her tongue in her cheek.

 _“Mina,”_ he groaned, blush spreading to his ears. “The _sidewalk?”_

She giggled with a suspicious level of mischief. “I love you on a sidewalk as much as I love you in a bedroom.”

Akihiko struggled to breathe. The heat from his face only made the cloudiness in his brain worsen, to the point where he was sure his head would explode right there.

 _The more things change, the more they stay the same,_ he mused wryly.

Despite that, his cheeks hurt from beaming so hard, and he replied with the truest thing he had ever said: “And I love you. Everywhere.” Akihiko met her lips again in a long, sweet kiss before letting out a nervous laugh. “…B-but a sidewalk? _Really?”_

Minako pulled him back into another kiss, smiling into it as she nipped his lips with her teeth. “I'm sure if we kept walking we could find an alley.” Another peck. “Or if we're _really_ lucky, an unlocked car--”

Akihiko covered his face with his hands and gave another groan. “M-Mina _, please._ You’re so _stupid,”_ he whispered under his breath. He dragged his hands down his face, revealing how closely he no-doubt resembled his hoodie. “How about we just… eat something? And I mean _food.”_ He glared at her pointedly as she tried, and failed, to hold back a laugh. “…How are you still _this_ good at teasing me?”

“You’ve just had your guard down for too long,” Minako said through a snicker, hugging him by the waist and pressing her forehead to his chest.

Hugging her back, Akihiko felt his body relax and he breathed out a small sigh. “…It has been too long, yeah.”

They stood holding each other in a few moments of silence. The air settled heavy between them, until Akihiko heard a sniffle and felt Minako trembling against him.

“I missed you, Aki,” she whispered shakily, burying her face further into him. Though it was laced with sadness, his name in her voice sent his heart soaring. “I missed you so much.”

Akihiko rested his forehead on top of her head, dusting gentle kisses where her hair parted. “I missed you, too. I never… I never thought I'd get to _hold_ you again.” He swallowed thickly and blinked his budding tears away.

Minako's grip on him tightened, but she said nothing.

“So, here's what I think we should do,” he murmured as he stroked along her spine. “We should walk together to the Beef Bowl Shop, and when we're inside… you should let me hold you while we eat. And we can stay there and talk as long as you want, about whatever you want. When we're done there, well… uh,” he cleared his throat and chuckled breathlessly at himself, “…you can come back to my place, if you want. And we don't have to _do_ anything, or… anything. N-not that I don't want to! I just mean it-it's okay if you… don't…”

Hearing her giggling, he sighed. “…I'm still not very good at this, but, Mina… I'm not going anywhere unless it's with you. So… you don't have to miss me anymore.”

Slowly, Minako lifted her head to look up at him. Her red eyes were shining, with both tears and a smile. “I think you're pretty wonderful at this, actually,” she said softly.

“…If you think so, then that's all I care about,” he said with a gentle laugh. Akihiko planted a warm kiss on her crown and sighed again, this time with nothing but bliss. “I love you.”

Minako brushed her lips against his pulse point. “I love you, too,” she breathed, sending goosebumps trailing down from where her breath met his skin. He shuddered and tilted her face towards him with a hand to her chin a beat before locking his lips squarely with hers.

Breaking apart, Akihiko chuckled. “I’ve been meaning to ask… why aren't you wearing shoes?”

Rolling her eyes, she said with a laugh, “Believe me, I didn't choose that. I just… woke up like this.”

“And you decided it’d be a good idea to wander the island like that?” He snickered, and her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink.

“I-I just make due with what I have! More _appreciative_ people would call me adaptable, you know.” After a moment, she grumbled with a sneer, “And I wasn't _wandering.”_

“Well… it's not warm enough for that yet, is all,” he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ears. “You should take mine. I haven't been jogging long, so they shouldn't be gross or anything.”

She made a face. “Aki, I'm not gonna take your--”

Akihiko had already slipped his red sneakers off and placed them in front of her feet.

“I have good socks,” he said with a grin. “…I just don't want you getting sick, especially not right when you're…” His words caught in his throat and all he could do was huff. “…Please, can you wear them?”

Minako's expression softened, seeming to understand what he lacked the words to say. She smiled at him sweetly before stepping into his shoes. They were comically large on her, and the red wasn't helping curb any of his mental images.

Standing at his side gripping his arm, Minako felt so _right_. Like this is how they were always meant to be, like they’d always be this way no matter the time or distance between them. Akihiko squeezed her hand as they took their first steps together towards the strip mall, towards a new beginning.

As long as he was with Minako Arisato, he would go anywhere and everywhere with complete and total joy. He supposed the Beef Bowl Shop was a good start.

“I hope they're ready for me,” Minako giggled from next to him. “I feel like I haven't eaten in _years.”_

Her joke was so _stupid,_ but it was so _her_ and made him genuinely laugh all the same. Akihiko leaned in and kissed the top of her head.

“I doubt there's anyone in the world who’s ready for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what demon overtook me. I only wanted to write some simple fluff, not whatever this is. Whoops.
> 
> And I'm not done with them yet! If you enjoyed this, I can't wait to see you again next chapter.
> 
> Hopefully my 150% pure headcanon in the first half wasn't too weird. I tried to focus on the thematics of Death also representing rebirth/new beginnings in tarot readings.
> 
> Feedback is adored and appreciated, whether you enjoyed or not! Thank you for reading.


	2. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> respite - n.  
> a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> So...I was roughly halfway into this chapter before I decided to start over completely and change the POV. It was about as fun as it sounds. I like this a lot more than what it was gonna be, though, so it'll (hopefully) be worth the wait!
> 
> Also, I was not expecting to receive as much feedback as I did! Thank you to everyone who has left a comment and/or a kudo so far, or who has reached out to me in other ways! Your encouragement and your feedback really helped make this chapter happen. Seriously, you all are awesome!
> 
> I especially wanted to thank [sunflowersandsunshining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersandsunshining) for being a doll and giving me a lot of inspiration and confidence, as well as for extensively proofreading this chapter! Check out her page if you're a fan of Shinji/FeMC.
> 
> Side note: I don't plan on having any rules for how many/which POVs I use per chapter. I'm a loose cannon. Watch out.
> 
> Hope you guys like heavy angst, sappy fluff, tense changes, and run-on sentences. [jazzhands]

How many times could one single person completely and totally change another’s life?

Akihiko didn’t exactly care to have an answer, but sitting in the Beef Bowl Shop with Minako tucked firmly underneath his arm and two bowls on the way, he couldn’t help but wonder.

It was a bit of an odd question to begin with, to him. What did “changing someone’s life” mean, exactly? _Whatever Mina had done to him_ was the only response he could give. Even then, he was at a loss.

Fundamentally, he was still Akihiko Sanada: twenty-three years old, male, fledgeling hotshot detective, Persona-user, off-duty Shadow Operative, boxer, orphan. But because of her, for a reason he couldn’t fully understand, it didn't stop there anymore. Something about him now made the world look brighter. Colors had never been so vibrant. When he took in a breath, he found his lungs double the size they were yesterday. If he let his thoughts wander for too long, he'd break out into a grin without noticing. _Like now,_ he realized with a flush of warmth to his ears as he reined it back.

And he knew it would _always_ be different, because _he_ was different, even if he was exactly the same.

 _You,_ Akihiko deadpanned internally, _are shit at this._

But there was some truth there, even if it was hard to glean from his jumbled thoughts. Every time his life had been changed, it was a shift in a totally new direction. Earth-shattering. Almost nothing looked familiar ever again.

With these qualifiers, he decided that Minako had changed his life three times. The first was when he fell in love with her.

He'd lacked a name for it in the beginning--the anxiety that built in him, the electricity totally unrelated to Polydeuces that spindled from his chest to his fingers and toes at the sight of her. She would talk to him, invite him out to eat, and he would be struck dumb. All words would catch in his throat, his pulse fluttering through his entire tingling body as if he'd just ran a marathon. _Fear,_ he'd eventually decide. _Terror._

 _Terror,_ one that made his knees weak and his lungs winded _._ A part of him liked the thrill of it, and he couldn't _begin_ to understand why. She would smile as she asked to walk home with him, red eyes crinkling at the corners, and he would drown. What was good about that? _This had to stop._ So Akihiko ducked his heating, clouding head and refused, but not quickly enough to miss how her face fell.

 _Terror,_ one that dunked his spine in ice water and made his stomach drop to his toes. The same type that he always got if a Shadow so much as _breathed_ on her in Tartarus. No secret enjoyment there. When had he let her get so important to him? Then Minako had smiled again and told him it was all right, she understood, maybe next time.

 _Terror,_ one that was a mix of the two terrors before it. That was the one that ate away at his core, the one that made his palms shake and sweat when he was near her, the one that made him want to run as far away as he could from her, the one that made him always want to hover by her.

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_ That soon became the thought he'd always go back to if Minako crossed his mind. And she did. Frequently. A little too often for his sanity.

He casually brought up his woes once with Shinjiro, who snorted, promptly called him a _“fucking_ **_moron_** _,”_ and said whatever was going on was his own fault for getting in too deep. Akihiko was on his own. Always on his own. Always alone.

Well, that wasn't quite true; Minako would have been there for him, would have understood like she always did, but he was too busy hiding from her. _“Asshole,”_ Akihiko had grunted over and over again with every hit to a punching bag later that night. He didn't know if he was talking about Shinjiro or himself.

Shinjiro would change his life, too--comatose, barely breathing, no sign of waking. A new power pumped through Akihiko's veins at his resolution. _Caesar,_ thundered a voice in his mind.

He would refuse to run from Minako again. She welcomed him back, warm as the summer sun. The twisting of his insides only got worse as time went on, but talking to her, being with her, being there _for_ her, Akihiko couldn't think of anyone more worth it. She was precious and wonderful, and he made _sure_ she knew that.

He would not allow anything to take away her light from the world. This time, he wouldn't fail.

 _“You're in love,”_ Minako had said with an almost teasing smile, and his eyes finally opened. _Love._ The last piece to the puzzle finally clicked into place. Maybe Shinjiro was right, but as Akihiko embraced her, he couldn't care how many stupidity-driven detours it took him to get to hold her. _This is love._

He would tell her himself in his room a few days later. _“From now on, we have each other.”_ Minako was his, Akihiko was hers, and that promise didn't scare him. A cheesy part of him felt that was the only way they ever _could_ be. His inner Mitsuru scolded him for moving too fast. He scoffed. If that were true, it wouldn't have felt so right.

His coach told him he'd changed. His movements were lighter, quicker, as if his feet had stopped touching the ground and nothing could ever bring him down. Akihiko couldn't help but laugh, despite the fact that it was more true than anything.

When Minako was in his arms, Akihiko never felt closer to Caesar. Two emperors, holding their world.

He bought her a music box and vowed to give her something to put in it every year. It was a promise to her that he would be there, to love her, to cherish her, and to keep her safe. A promise that Nyx would never take them from each other. Her smile made him think she believed him. As she should. There wasn't a future without her.

She knitted a red scarf for him. The edges were uneven, the lines were crooked, but it was soft, it was warm, and most importantly it was for _him._ Akihiko had to bite back a quiver in his lips and cover up budding tears with a feeble joke about how cutesy it was. The only other thing he owned in his entire life that was made _just_ for him was his Evoker. He didn't know it was possible to fall for Minako harder, but there he was. Drowning. Kissing her as if he was pouring his overflowing feelings directly into her.

Minako went alone. Akihiko was crumpled on the ground, screaming her name until his throat was splitting, his voice was shattering, his lungs were cramping. Helpless. Weak. Unworthy. _Get the_ **_hell_ ** _up!_ He can't let her, he can't _lose_ her, he _promised_ her, **_get up_** \--

The second time Minako changed his life was when she died.

No. She _ripped_ out something from his core, _tore it up_ in front of his eyes. Cold, cold, cold, _so cold,_ he was never good with the cold and now it was everywhere, biting at him until his skin cracked and bled and blackened. A just punishment for breaking the promise he'd made to her before sending her off to face Death itself alone. For forgetting about her until it was too late.

Rise. Undress. Shower. Redress. Wonder how tightly the scarf she made for him had to be wrapped before it'd suffocate him. Ignore Mitsuru's texts. Avoid Shinjiro's eye contact. Maybe eat. Train. Get stronger. Train. Train. _You’re weak, Sanada._ _Train._ Try to fall asleep without nightmares. Wake up from the nightmares.

A rusty cog in a worn-down machine. Maybe, eventually, if the machine moved his rotted out body far enough forward, his mind would be dragged along with it.

Akihiko remembered the story of Icarus, the man who made wings of wax and flew so close to the sun that they melted, plummeting him to his demise. His coach had been wrong. Part of him wished he'd heeded the fable's warning. Another part rightfully scorned the selfishness of that thought. Yet another, wailing from the far-off corner he'd banished it to, just wanted to hold her again.

Maybe it was odd to find Minako's statued form beautiful, but he did. Eyes closed peacefully, a hint of a smile, her stance unfaltering. Powerful. Strong. Worthy. _“It suits you,”_ he had said with a feeble, broken laugh. But… maybe if she could find acceptance, he could too.

Or maybe not. After all, there wasn't some wise, otherworldly power guiding him to _his_ Answer, like there had been for her and Aigis. It was all on him to blindly scramble for the first foothold. Always on his own. Always alone.

Shinjiro told him he was dying. Akihiko restrained himself with a trembling hand to keep from punching him. Those damned pills. Stubborn, _stupid_ asshole had made his own loophole just in case the gun didn't work. The footholds crumbled. Not that he cared to search for them anymore anyway.

It was a small funeral; just him and the survivors of SEES. Few words were exchanged between them, but there were plenty for Shinjiro.

Mitsuru offered him a position in a Shadow Operative group that dealt with rogue Shadows still roaming across Japan and the world. _What the hell did she have to die for, then?_ He gave Mitsuru a non-committal grunt and she put him in the reserves. Whatever that meant.

Ghosts hid in every corner of Port Island. Minako was in sunflowers and wind chimes. Shinjiro was in shadows and moonlight. They breathed down his neck, tugged at his legs with every step, gnashed their teeth in his ears. The weight of their bodies settled in his chest, deeper, heavier, deeper, heavier, until his body was nothing more than an anchor and standing left him winded.

Gap year secured with his university, Akihiko left on the first flight out to God-knows-where, a quick _“I'm leaving”_ texted haphazardly to Mitsuru while boarding his plane being the only notice he gave to anyone who could call him a friend.

He didn't know, couldn't care what he was searching for. _Strength,_ he'd tell himself and others who asked, the image of Minako’s statue flashing through his mind. To be fair, he found some idea of that; Akihiko had never been in better physical shape. In every country he visited, he became known as a man not to cross. Dismantling gangs, taking down a bear, even still fighting an occasional Shadow on the side… did nothing to fill what had been gouged hollow. His single gap year was quickly turning into two.

Akihiko only returned to Port Island on Minako's and Shinjiro’s anniversaries. Mitsuru insisted (commanded) he use her company apartment on the edge of Iwatodai, typically reserved for special guests visiting from far corners. Despite that, she never visited. He didn't take it personally; she was just smart enough to know he wouldn't see her.

He started going shirtless most days later in his sabbatical. The scars on his body reminded him that he lived. They were an adequate distraction from the scars in his heart that wondered why.

Eventually, he saw all of SEES again during his travels. All were doing well, everything considered. Each of them had stirred something in him that he'd rather forget, but the one who had stood out the most was Junpei Iori. Always wearing a grin, hardly a care in the world, shamelessly parading a gift from his resurrected girlfriend around his neck.

Junpei told him he was planning on proposing. Being raised in a boxing ring never taught him how to be nice, but Akihiko at least grasped one cardinal rule: if there's nothing nice to say, say nothing at all. So he didn't, swallowing back the dark green bile building in his throat as he gave Junpei a nod.

College gossips called him “the hot orphan with a dead girlfriend.” Weird guy, damaged goods. Isolated as if loss were a plague. He was too old now to let it get to him, but some days, he wondered if that was all he'd ever be.

Akihiko rarely doubted he'd be a good detective, but he still woke every day a little stunned he'd made it there. He imagined she'd be proud of him, and work only became more enjoyable. Jails were his museums of success. A long time to get there, but Akihiko allowed himself to begin to believe that _this_ time he wouldn't fail. That maybe, if he told himself enough, he could believe that protecting the world she saved was good enough to earn her forgiveness. Sometimes, with a bit of focus and grease, he did.

And today, five years after the second, Minako had changed his life for a third time. His mind drifted over the events of the day, wanting to preserve every moment leading up to now.

Returning to the present, Akihiko caught himself smiling again. So had Minako, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes with a warm grin of her own.

“Whatcha thinking about?” she asked softly, a hint of a playful giggle texturing her voice.

Still smiling, Akihiko slanted his lips over hers. Her skin was soft against him, warm and inviting as she pressed back. A chaste kiss, but one that sent his pulse fluttering anyway. An amused noise bubbled from the back of her throat. He pulled back but only slightly, still close enough for her breath to tickle his lips and nose.

“You.”

Minako didn't fluster easily, but through revenge-fueled trial and error, he'd figured out a foolproof method to melt her: be as sappy as possible. Simple but _lethal._ The fact that he always meant what he said made the results even better. Sure enough, her cheeks flushed scarlet and she flung her hands over her face. Akihiko snickered and nestled her deeper against his chest, both arms wrapped around her.

“Being _that_ corny should be illegal,” Minako mumbled into her palms, trying and failing to hide a laugh.

“You know you love it.”

 _“No._ You're just lucky I love _you.”_

A corner of his mouth tugged up and he hummed in agreement. “The luckiest guy in the world.”

Minako uncovered her eyes just to roll them at him. “I'm gonna kiss that smirk off your stupid face.”

“I'd like to see you try.”

She groaned. _Victorious._ He laughed as he pulled her onto his lap, giddily pressing a kiss to her temple. _God,_ did he miss this. He could hardly remember the last time he could act like this around someone, and the fact that it was _Minako?_ He was drunk on joy, on the cheesiness of it all, on the warmth of her body on top of his.

He would have kept her there forever, but two fresh, hot beef bowls landed in front of them. Minako wasted no time digging in, settling back in her seat. She broke her chopsticks apart with ease and…

They wouldn't fit in her hand right.

He watched her adjust and readjust the utensil between her fingers. She clearly knew something was wrong, yet every time she rearranged her hand, the position would only be _almost_ correct. Her face pinched in confusion, looking oddly helpless in a way he’d never seen her before. The sight nearly sobered him with a clench around his chest.

“…Here.”

Akihiko took her hand and moved her complying fingers around the chopsticks until they had the proper form. She thanked him in a mumble, not meeting his eyes.

After a moment, she forced out a chuckle as she said, “I can remember the way to the mall, but not…” But it seemed like she couldn’t put her heart fully into it. She trailed off and fell silent, her weak smile already faded.

Minako was drifting off somewhere--Akihiko could feel her light being sucked out of the room. Judging by the look on her face, wherever she was going wasn’t anywhere good.

“Hey,” he prompted softly, sitting up with her closer to the table and squeezing her shoulder. “It's really not a big deal, Mina. You haven't done this in a long time.”

She looked up and gave him a grin, but it hardly reached her eyes.

He felt his gaze harden as he saw right through her--his “detective face,” as some of his co-workers called it. A visual dressing-down he figured he’d picked up from Mitsuru. At that, Minako's grin faltered and she sought comfort in staring at her fingers, opening and closing her chopsticks as if testing that they worked.

Something twinged painfully in his guts. He wanted to reach out to her, to understand what was going on on in her head, but he had no idea where to start. He was damned if he didn't try.

Akihiko equipped his chopsticks and gently pinched her nose with them. It earned him a giggle and he couldn’t help but soften at that, giving her a smile in return. “Eat. You’ll feel better. I promise.”

And eat she did. Maybe her earlier joke had more truth in it than he’d thought. Minako wolfed her beef and rice in a blur, so quickly that there was no way she chewed it. Tiny noises of delight left her with every bite. Akihiko watched her, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned on the table. He could feel his beaming growing dopey as he realized this was the single best day of his life.

“Aki?” she said suddenly, her mouth still full of food. “Do you mind just… talking about anything for me?”

Akihiko wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her so close she was all but on top of him. She immediately nestled her forehead into his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. The moment was so tender, he felt himself melt a little as he pressed his mouth and nose into her hair. He hummed in thought, trying to focus away from her for a moment to fill her request.

He chuckled into her hair. “…I fought a bear.”

She nearly choked.

It wasn’t _all_ bad memories since he saw her last. Akihiko told her his wildest stories, the most beautiful places he’d seen, and all the interesting people he’d met. She listened intently, eyes sparkling with excitement and a wide grin on her face, and he couldn’t help but feel _proud._ As he started talking about the Wild Card he’d met in Inaba and his friends, however, Minako interrupted him.

“So… did you just kind of skip university?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No, I went. Just not right away. I arranged with my school to take a couple years off. I just… had to get away for a bit, after… well…” He swallowed.

Atmosphere thick with words unspoken, Minako stiffened against him.

“…I bet Mitsuru-senpai wasn’t too happy about that,” she managed with a weak chuckle. Akihiko huffed a laugh himself.

“Definitely not. She found a way to turn every conversation back to that.” He shuddered as if Mitsuru had chilled him herself. “I think if I’d put it off any longer, you’d be talking to a block of ice right now.”

Minako snorted, nodding in agreement. After a moment, she asked, “Does that mean you still talk to the others?”

She sounded almost timid, full of hope, and he…

Was full of guilt.

“…Not as much as I should,” he admitted softly, twiddling his chopsticks in his fingers.

Despite never saying those words before, they rang surprisingly true to him as they slipped from his mouth.

“It’s, ah, mostly Mitsuru and Yukari.” Akihiko scratched the back of his head. “But… they update me on everyone else. And it's not like I _don't_ talk to them, I just…”

Why did he feel so defensive all of a sudden? Minako seemed to catch that too, her mouth sliding into a subtle frown as her crimson eyes searched his face.

The silence in the wake of his trailing off brought a sweat to his brow. He cleared his throat and decided it was a good time to start eating his beef bowl.

“…Yukari-chan, huh? Mitsuru-senpai I get, but what made you two so close?”

Akihiko glanced back over to her as he chewed, finding her face shining with a warm, judgement-free smile that dimpled her cheeks and made his heart skip a beat. He always knew she was good with people, but watching her salvage _whatever the hell that was,_ Akihiko realized he was in the presence of a master.

He laughed, and there was something self-depreciating in it. “Nothing dramatic,” he said with a shrug as he plucked a healthy scoop of beef into his mouth. “Just sort of happened after she and Mitsuru finally got together.”

_SLAM!_

Akihiko jumped in his seat, coughing madly as half-chewed beef went down the wrong pipe. Minako had hit the table with both her fists.

“What do you mean _'finally’?”_ she all but shouted over his coughing.

“What?” he managed in between coughs, pounding his chest until the fit settled. “Don't tell me you didn't think it was obvious either! I remember Junpei looked like his head was gonna--”

Minako slammed the table again, rattling their bowls and drawing the attention of nearby patrons. She was glaring at him, but all Akihiko could think of was how cute she looked. “Of _course_ it was obvious! But how did _you,_ of _all_ people notice it?”

A familiar warmth began tingling in his cheeks. “…Is that really how you're gonna talk to the guy who selflessly gave you the shoes off his own feet?”

Her groan and eye roll were so dramatic that the combination almost broke his carefully maintained straight face.

“That's how I talk to _Akihiko Sanada,_ the guy who didn't get he was in love until the girl he was in love with told him.”

Tingling turned into a full-scale blush that filled his entire head. Minako struggled to bite back a smile as she watched him, which only made _everything_ worse. “D-don’t look at me like that! That was totally different!”

_“How!?”_

He was never going to live that one down, was he? Not that he cared. Their banter felt easy, comfortable, as if the last time he saw her was yesterday and not a lifetime ago.

Akihiko realized he had forgotten that nostalgia wasn't supposed to kick his breath out of his chest and render him frozen, numb, and empty. No, it was supposed to be talking with her: warm, wonderful, and full of love. A home away from home, a place to go back to no matter how lost you get.

They continued on like this, with Minako teasing and Akihiko floundering, as he told her what he could of SEES.

Mitsuru, of course, was hard at work being the head of the Kirijo Group, and Yukari was busy with her acting career (“Are you _shitting_ me!?” Minako had screamed, throwing him into a fit of laughter and prompting the owner to tell them to either calm down or leave). Fuuka had become Ken’s guardian, sharing a house with the soon-to-be Gekkoukan High second year and an aging Koromaru while working remotely as a software developer. All of them juggled their daily lives with being part-time Shadow Operatives. Aigis had immersed herself into the work full-time after completing high school and a short stint at a university.

And then there was Junpei.

Akihiko's stomach wound around itself. A familiar weight settled on his back and covered him like a too-tightly wrapped blanket, yet still he was cold enough to shiver. He focused on his now half-eaten bowl for a moment before forcing a lopsided smile. “Junpei and Chidori got engaged.”

It was Minako's turn to splutter and cough. _“What!?”_ she squeaked in a whisper once she got back her breath, her eyes stretched wider than their bowls. She clasped her hands over her mouth, but he could see her grin over her entire face--the apples of her cheeks rosy, her eyes crinkled half-moons glistening with mirth and an unshed tear or two.

Akihiko felt she was always beautiful, but these rare moments of all-consuming, genuine joy were her peak. He debated whether or not to remove her hands and kiss her senseless.

Instead, he straightened his back, pleased with the reaction he'd gotten out of her. “Yup. He proposed at some art gallery she got featured in last year. Yukari wouldn't stop crying about how cute it was for a solid month.”

“It _is_ cute, Aki!” Minako all but squealed, playfully hitting his shoulder. “That's--oh my _God_ , that's…” Suddenly, her brows pinched together, almost like she was amused. “Wow, she must really love him a _lot_ to change her name to _Chidori Iori.”_

She babbled on, tongue tripping over itself in excitement, but her words fell on deaf ears as Akihiko's mind wandered out of the restaurant.

Fragments of different voices echoed through his head, all clamoring to be heard after being neglected for so long. Pushed into shadows he pretended he couldn't see. Even now, he didn't pay attention to what they said; only to the bitterness, the anger, the pain behind them, the knowledge that some things couldn't be taken back. And there was that guilt again, pulling at him from all sides until his edges snapped and frayed. Minako's statue stood tall in his mind, and the feeling's grip only tightened--

Minako yanked him from his thoughts, squishing his face and turning his head to look at her. Her mouth puffed out in a pout as he gawked at her wide-eyed. “You’re doing that thing you always do,” she said, drawing out the words as if she were scolding a child.

“Wh-what ‘thing’?” he spluttered, voice muffled from his cheeks firmly pressed against his teeth.

“The one where you glare at something like it owes you money.”

She thought it necessary to copy, he assumed, how he looked when he did that, scrunching her face up into an angry expression. His own face softened.

“Ah… sorry,” he mumbled. “I was just… thinking about something.”

Minako smiled at him and there was something sad in it, in the way that her eyes grew a little dull as she searched his face. Her hands slid down and gently gripped his shoulders. “Your mind's kind of a prison, Aki,” she said softly. Caring, not harsh.

His mouth twitched into a wry smirk as he scratched the back of his head. “Kind of,” he muttered, and it felt like a confession.

Her eyes flitted from his gaze to the floor and back. She swallowed before releasing a short breath, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “I… you haven't brought up Shinjiro-senpai yet.”

_Ah._

Akihiko was almost thankful she was the one to address him, if only so he didn't have to find a way to bring him up. Even then, the mere mention of Shinjiro's name made him wince as if he'd been struck, old scars burning. He bit his lips and let the silence between them hang for a moment before sighing through his nose.

“Shinji died.”

“Oh,” was all she could say--though, he supposed it could have just as easily been a sigh from how softly and quietly it had come out of her.

“The Suppressors,” he all but spat, mouth curling into a grimace. “He woke up, but by then the pills already…” The flare in his chest--anger, hurt, betrayal--was familiar, but still stopped him in his tracks until he swallowed and looked down at his feet. “He only had six months.”

There was hardly a beat before suddenly Minako flung herself on top of him.

Akihiko caught her instantly, letting out an involuntary grunt from the sudden force of it. Something unconscious in him noted how oddly light she felt despite her entire weight on him.

She shook against him as she buried her face into his hoodie. Her arms locked around his neck. It was nearly enough to rattle him, but he embraced her tightly, rubbing her back in slow circles.

“I’m so sorry,” Minako sobbed into him.

His throat dried. “What--” his voice caught, forcing him to cough, “What are you apologizing for?”

“I should’ve been there.”

 _Oh._ His body went limp.

“Mina…”

“I should’ve been there,” she repeated, breathless from her tears. More apologies left her in mumbles, to Shinjiro and to him, and his insides were frosting over in a prickling dread.

“No, no, hey,” he whispered, squeezing her tighter and kissing her temple. “You--you were doing something important.” His breath hitched. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t… don’t _ever_ think that. You hear me?”

Akihiko wanted to tell her Shinjiro wouldn't have wanted her to cry for him, but he knew grief more than he knew himself. He kept his mouth shut.

Slowly, Minako moved her legs and shifted her body until she was sitting fully on his lap, one arm curled against her chest and the other holding his shoulder. A flickering candle seeking a bonfire. He adjusted himself with her until she was essentially cradled against him, arms wrapped around her body.

They sat that way for a long time. Dinner rush went into full swing around them, enveloping them in the low, warm hum of jumbled chatter. The occasional clink of clattering ceramic and the distant hiss of sizzling meat provided backup for the white noise lullaby. Akihiko rocked her gently back and forth, the movement adding the slow beat of creaking wood to the restaurant's medley. Though the turn in mood left his chest heavy, Akihiko's heartbeat eased into a languid crawl. For the first time in too long--maybe in his entire life--his mind completely stilled.

Eventually, Minako's tears slowed to a trickle, then stopped. He broke their trance with a small sigh. “Are you all right?” he asked in a murmur.

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes before offering him a too-tiny smile. “Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to be such a downer.” Her chuckle came out like a harsh exhale, a noise he decided was significantly worse than her crying. “…Are you?”

Of course. That was always the big question, wasn't it?

A dull throb pulsed in the back of his skull, waking him fully from his near-meditation. Akihiko idly wondered if there was a memo he had missed, or if some kind of note was taped to his forehead inviting everyone on the damned planet to pry into his business.

But it was Minako. The spark of annoyance petered out quicker than it had come as he met her eyes.

“I'm more worried about you,” he finally said.

She laughed, and he was pretty sure he had missed the joke. “I know.”

Minako captured his lips with hers, pressing softly as if he were something fragile and could break beneath her. Irritation crackled again, weak but still _there,_ and he felt like a child even as he swatted it away. Thankfully, she didn't seem to catch him in his thoughts, looking up at him with an easy contentment as she pulled back.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a yawn interrupted her with a squeak. “…I think I'm just tired,” Minako said with a gentle smile, her crimson eyes slowly growing half-lidded as she nuzzled into his shoulder. “Today's been pretty eventful, I have to say.”

It was only then that Akihiko noticed the shadow of dusk had already settled over the strip mall, the only light being gifted from street lanterns and leaked from store windows. He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Do you want to leave?”

Her smile grew wider, more energized. “I’d… I’d like to go back to your place. If that's still okay?”

Even with sorrow weighing over them, Akihiko's face burned and his heart tumbled in his stomach. “Mina, that’s,” he laughed, his grin mindlessly joyful, “that's more than okay. Why'd you even ask?”

After sliding more than enough yen to cover their meal underneath his bowl, Akihiko guided her to the door with a hand to her back.

Spring was still too young for its warmth to last beyond the sunset. He quickly unzipped his hoodie and draped it around Minako's shoulders, leaving himself to deal with the chill in only a short-sleeved white t-shirt. Her protests went ignored. Akihiko had the courtesy to swallow his laughter when she gave up and zipped herself into it, at least.

Her slender fingers intertwined with his crooked ones, and the comforting scratch of her calluses made him realize he'd left his gloves back on the sidewalk of Port Island.

He wasn't sure if it was the shoes, the sleepiness, the time away, or some mix of the three, but Minako could hardly walk without tripping over herself.

Akihiko remembered the girl who'd been two steps ahead of nearly every monster in the midnight tower, twirling and tapping her feet to the beat of a tune only she could hear. Bounding, leaping, striking down with her naginata as if making the winning spike in one of her volleyball matches. Effortless. Always knowing which foot to fall on, landing mid-run towards her next target, curving and angling herself perfectly to balance on uneven ground.

Frailty not only didn’t fit her, but it was distinctly wrong. He watched her from the corner of his eye, careful not to call attention to the concern she would try to brush off.

After yet another scuffle, yelp, and stabilizing jerk of his arm, Akihiko forced them to a stop. Without a word, he scooped her up in a piggyback and slid his sneakers back on. Minako’s grip on his shoulders was strong enough to tell him that girl was still inside her. He beamed, pride bursting through him.

The rest of their walk was relatively quick with him being able to jog. Aside from Minako commenting that Mitsuru forcing him to stay in a spare apartment was “one of the most ‘Mitsuru-senpai’ things I've ever heard,” they didn't speak much. They didn't need to--they hardly _ever_ needed to. The way she pressed her lips into his hair said a thousand words. Stroking her thighs with his thumbs said a thousand back.

The inside of the apartment building greeted them with warmth. But, even after five years of visiting, Akihiko couldn't help but feel out of place. After all, Mitsuru had intended for this apartment to be used by moguls. His gaze wandered from expensive paintings hanging from every wall, to black leather couches that always looked new, and to the massive chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The receptionist, an older woman, greeted them from behind a long desk placed towards the stairs.

Minako slid off his back, but gripped his arm as if the room was an endless ocean and he was her lifeboat. Maybe she was intimidated, too.

Not trusting her ability to climb the stairs to the top floor where his borrowed apartment was, Akihiko guided her to the elevator, responding to the receptionist's raised eyebrow with a decidedly awkward wave. The woman was familiar with his and Mitsuru's arrangement, and the context wasn't exactly a secret. He could feel the heat behind her eyes even as the elevator doors shut behind him and Minako.

The silence inside set Akihiko's limbs on-edge, jittery and uncomfortable. His blood pressure rose with the elevator, and he was sure Minako could hear his heartbeat thrumming wildly through his entire body. For a second, he worried that the amount of sweat pouring from him would cause her hands to slide off his arm.

What was up with him?

This wasn't even _his_ apartment. Hell, even if it _was,_ the two of them had essentially shared a room back at the dorm. Yet as he exited the elevator with Minako at his side and approached the apartment, every nerve in his body danced and thrashed against the thinnest layer of his skin as if he were in high school again.

He fumbled with his keys in the doorknob before managing to open the door. He gestured with a jerky arm for Minako enter first. Following her inside, he shut and locked them in behind him.

Flipping on the living room lights, Akihiko was greeted with Minako looking straight at him, still hovering around the small entry alcove. Her face flushed bright pink as she broke into a beautiful, bashful smile. All the air in his lungs _whooshed_ out at the sight.

The glow of the lamps illuminated her from behind in a hazy, golden halo, and for a long, terrifying moment, he wondered if this was when he’d wake up.

Even though he was drowning in all the emotions filling him, even though the pressure in his head crushed anything resembling a coherent thought, Akihiko couldn't help but breathe “I love you.”

Minako giggled, and he was nervous enough to laugh back as he closed the distance between them. “I love you, too,” she whispered with a gentle smile, taking his hands and placing them on the flares of her hips. His heart gave a resounding _thump_ in response, and he was certain she felt its echo from the tips of his fingers.

Their lips met with starving urgency--clumsy, desperate, leaping for each other with a force that clacked their teeth together _._ Akihiko snaked his hands underneath the hoodie he loaned her, grabbing fistfulls of the back of her dress as he pressed her completely against his chest. Minako brushed her fingertips along his jawline and the lobes of his ears, sending a shudder down his spine and eliciting a low noise from the back of his throat.

His mouth opened against her to kiss her again, and she wasted no time invading with her tongue. Minako flirted with the tip of his own before hooking his teeth, sliding out slowly, beckoning him to follow her. The inside of her mouth was hot, and the taste of her brought back a tingling sense of nostalgia that pushed him into a moan.

“Aki,” his name left her in a prayer as they briefly came up for air. A heat built and churned low and deep in his core, his entire body aching wonderfully at how perfect his name was in her longing voice. He pressed her back onto him with a caress of the back of her head.

His other hand fumbled with the zipper to the hoodie before, finally, with trembling fingers, he unzipped it in a swift movement. Minako took the hint and threw it blindly to the side. She wrapped her arms firmly around his neck, and that was the opening he needed--Akihiko immediately shifted his arms to lift her, one hand to the ridge of her spine and the other wrapped just underneath her backside.

Minako was light--too light, that nagging, unconscious part of him noted again--and he was quick; it was only seconds before they made it to the couch. The brown leather was cool to the touch. They both shuddered against it as he laid her on her back and hovered over her on his hands and knees. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer until the tips of their noses were nearly touching.

But with their bodies now in proper lighting and with his attention drawn to her face, Akihiko noticed her eyes. The circles underneath them were more like bruises, deep purple and blue stark against pale skin. Though she was clearly eager, pupils blown wide and raking over all of him, she looked like she could only barely keep her eyes open.

The last time he had seen that level of fatigue was five years ago today.

Akihiko jerked backward, sitting up on his knees, heart lurching in a sharp, arrhythmic jolt. Primal, instinctual. His sudden movement forced her to unlock her legs and earned him a perplexed look. It was an expression he matched helplessly, blinking a few times underneath a furrowed brow as his eyes wandered over her body.

Invisible fists wringed his lungs in an iron grip. Too tight, too suffocating to say it was just the kissing that shortened his breath.

“Aki?” she prompted, tentative and gentle, propping herself up on an elbow.

That was enough to snap him out of whatever stupor had overtaken him; he leaned over her again and brushed one of her cheeks with his knuckles.

“You look exhausted,” he murmured, almost chiding.

There was something guilty in her face as her gaze flitted to the side.

“I think you should rest,” he sighed. He cursed himself internally for not better hiding his disappointment.

Minako caught his face with both of her hands. “I want _you,_ Aki. Not sleep,” she said before pulling him into another kiss. Akihiko allowed himself to melt into her for a few moments before breaking it early.

“What, you think I'm going anywhere?” he chuckled. A realization hit him with a deep blush to his cheeks, and he couldn't help but laugh at himself. “Besides, i-it's… not like I have any… you know, _protection_ right now.”

“Oh, please,” she laughed, hitting his shoulder playfully. “You and I both know we can do a lot more than _that.”_ In the middle of another giggle, Minako yawned, but that didn't stop her from sulking with a ridiculous pout. “I'll just tape my eyes open,” she grumbled.

He rolled his eyes. “Mina. We have time.”

And as the statement left his mouth, a wave of euphoria washed over him. He found himself laughing again, eyes stinging from unshed tears as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“We have time,” Akihiko repeated through an uncontrollable grin, his voice cracking on the last word.

It was a truth that would never get old, a promise he believed without hesitation he wouldn't break. After all, he reminded himself, Minako had changed his life again. _He_ was changed again. The world was a brighter place--bright enough to where finally, for the first time since high school, he could start to see the future ahead of him.

She giggled, cupping him by the jaw and stroking his stubble with a thumb. Pleasant tingles ran up and down his spine at the sensation. “You're so hopeless.”

He hummed and pecked her nose. “It’s your fault.”

Akihiko slid off the couch and onto his feet. The floorboards creaked even with the cushion of a cream rug beneath him as he walked towards the kitchenette. “I'll get you something to drink before we get you to bed,” he said over his shoulder.

He heard the distinct squeak of leather and a half-hearted “you don't have to” in response. But as Shinjiro always told him, he was really good at being a stubborn pain in the ass.

Chuckling to himself, Akihiko flipped another light switch and walked around the marble bar separating the two areas. The checkered tile and black cabinets jumped out at him under the fluorescent overhead-- _very Mitsuru,_ mused his subconscious. He searched the unfamiliar cupboards for glassware, eventually finding it and filling a glass with cold tap.

He stifled a yawn of his own as he shuffled back towards the couch. The clock pinned to the wall across from him hovered its little hand over the eleven. Maybe he was getting old, but sleep didn't sound like a bad idea to him, either.

Minako had wasted no time curling up, it seemed. She'd made her nest in the corner of the couch, tucking her knees underneath one arm and resting her head in the crook of her elbow in the other. Her hair draped over her as if she'd thrown on a blanket.

“There's no way you fell asleep that fast,” Akihiko laughed as he placed the water down on the end table beside where she was sitting.

She didn't respond. Instead, she breathed slowly and deeply, her eyes closed and her features swathed in peace.

He froze.

As he stood over her, it was as if all the air in the room had been replaced with pins, needles, and icicles. It pricked his skin and the inside of his lungs, sharp enough to all but draw blood from him.

Something wasn't right.

It was a distinct feeling to him--palpable, coating every inch of his body in a cold sweat, pressing against him from all sides. The weight of pure, concentrated, unfiltered doom thrust itself upon Akihiko's shoulders, nearly buckling his knees.

 _No,_ he called out internally over the dread inside him screaming the end of days. She was just tired. She was just sleeping. It was normal, after the day they had. This wasn't…

Akihiko cursed under his breath. Surely if he woke her, she'd understand? After everything, that wasn't out of line, was it? He didn't think so. Maybe. No, no it probably wasn't. She always understood.

Deciding it better to ask for forgiveness than permission, Akihiko gripped her gently by the shoulder. The sheer relief at how warm she felt rattled him. Was he really considering…? He shook the thought away.

“Mina?” he called in a soft voice, jostling her lightly.

Not even an eyelid flutter, not even a change in breathing.

Again. “Mina.” His grip on her shoulder turned his knuckles white.

Nothing.

He leapt back as if she had reared and frenzied with fangs and claws. His blunted nails bore into his scalp before he could catch himself in time. The sickly sweet smell of antiseptic leaked out from nowhere, sending his stomach churning and wracking his body with dry heaves.

All he could hear over the roar of his rocketing pulse in his ears was the screech of a deafening, too-familiar flatline.

Suddenly, Akihiko was eighteen again.

He’s ripped from her side and tossed into Shinjiro’s grasp. Akihiko struggles against his full nelson--weak, weak, weak, she’s dying, _she’s dying_ and he’s weak.

Fluid in her lungs, the nurses shout over each other. Charging… clear. Charging… clear. Again, again, do it again, Akihiko wants to scream, but he’s numb, he’s a rag doll, he’s beyond useless, and _she’s dead she’s dead she’s dead--_

He finds his arms and legs again, breaking free from Shinjiro's hold, and storms out of the room. Shinjiro calls for him, but he has to go, he has to leave, he _can't breathe I can't breathe I can't breathe this isn't real this isn'tno no nonono I can't breathe not again not again I can't breathe she's dead she's dead she's dead?? she's dead???? not again please not again I can't--_

Akihiko slams his body against the door to the stairwell and stumbles inside, ignoring Shinjiro's and Mitsuru's calls of his name. He staggers up the stairs, but the lack of air in his lungs forces him to a stop halfway up the first flight.

And there he crumbles, collapsing on the steps, sitting hunched over with his hands balled up on top of his head. Chunks of his hair stick out between the cracks in his fingers and he has to control the urge to rip all of it out. Gasping, gasping, but air can't reach him before his world is spinning, everything white and spotty. He leans against the wall so he doesn’t topple over. The few breaths he manages to take leave him in shuddering sobs.

It’s a long time before he notices Shinjiro and Mitsuru standing inside the stairwell with him. Neither move, with Shinjiro's dead eyes staring blankly at nothing and Mitsuru wiping her silent tears as she glares at her boots.

_Stop, stop, stop--_

Akihiko dug his fists into his temples until the physical pain screamed over the imagined, returning him to reality. A technique he hadn't needed to use in a long time.

Even as he did, his hands burned with the phantom crack of breaking his knuckles on the hospital wall. Disinfectant lingered in his nostrils. His rib cage tightened, forcing him to take in a sharp gasp.

And he realized, the thought a bullet shredding through his brain, that he didn't need to “return” to reality. Another gasp.

That memory _was_ reality. Another gasp.

That happened. That was real.

How could he have ever pretended to forget? Another gasp.

Even though she had come back, even though she’d changed his life for a third time, even though he was different, he was still exactly the same.

Helpless. Weak. Unworthy.

Another gasp, another gasp, tugging at his hair with his fists, trying to blink away the stars of static from his vision. Another gasp, because he needed to calm the fuck down _right now,_ he had to figure out what to do, but the air couldn't reach his lungs and he _can't breathe I can't breathe I can't--_

Akihiko didn't know if he was pacing, but the room moved around him as if he were. He wasn't attached to his limbs. The inside of his skull was nothing but a fog, too deep for him to even feel his way through.

_“Your mind's kind of a prison, Aki.”_

Minako was right, and right now, with her doing this to him _again,_ the sound of her voice was its warden.

His mind knew where to place the pitfalls and where to hide the keys. Wires and flames lined the edges of his consciousness. It was an expert trap of his own making, shrouded from himself beneath smog and ash, and only someone with a copied set of keys could guide him out.

_Copied keys, copied keys--_

The weight of the key chain in his pocket never felt heavier. He felt the first door unlock.

_Mitsuru._

Before he realized it, Akihiko held his phone in his trembling hands. A gift forced on him from Mitsuru, after his old one finally bit the dust. Maybe he would appreciate her foresight if he had control over his mind. His vision swam in the tears that finally spilled from his eyes, making it impossible for him to make out the screen.

But his thumbs moved autonomously. In the span of a single blink, he found himself staring at the blurred image of red hair and fair skin. His thumb hovered over the glaring green phone symbol. Shaking. He gasped out a sob.

In the middle of talking himself out of it, Akihiko pressed Call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm addicted to feedback, good or bad, so please leave me some if you have any to leave!
> 
> See you next chapter!


	3. Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the warmth of a taken hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry about the wait for a relatively short chapter! Pacing is a tricky beast.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left me feedback last chapter, be it bookmark, comment, and/or kudo. This is the first time in a long time that I've felt so excited and dedicated to do something, and it's all thanks to you guys.
> 
> (also, minor retcon for older readers! I decided that Akihiko would call Minako "Mina," so past chapters have been edited to reflect that.)

_Buzz._

Mitsuru Kirijo glanced up from her book to her phone resting face down on the end table, eyes narrowed and mouth creased into a pursed frown.

 _23:38,_ read the table's digital clock, its neon green text leaping out against low lamplight. Mitsuru's gaze flitted to the figure laying next to her in bed; Yukari Takeba was snoring softly, curled around herself under blankets and clad only in a strappy pink singlet top and purple underwear.

_Buzz._

The entire end table rattled from her phone's vibration, shattering the nighttime silence with its drawer full of rolling pens and clattering coins. Mitsuru cringed. Yukari had an important press day tomorrow she was trying to rest for.

Whomever it was, they better have a good explanation for calling at this hour. Associates even only one step below her couldn't breach such a line without being owed some serious questioning.

_Buzz._

Mitsuru sighed softly through her nose, shuffling off their bed as swiftly as quiet movement could allow. She grabbed her still-vibrating phone and treaded to the door on the balls of her feet. It wasn't until she was in the hallway with the door closed soundlessly behind her that she bothered looking at the screen.

_Incoming call: Akihiko Sanada_

Her eyes snapped wide under her furrowed brow. For half a breath, she thought she was misreading, but there was nothing unclear in the photo of the man with silver hair and distant, dull slate grey eyes staring up at her from her screen.

_Buzz._

It was still March 5th. Mitsuru's heart stopped dead in her throat.

Her phone nearly fumbled from her grasp with how quickly she answered.

“Akihiko?” she called, soft but urgent, no traces of her earlier irritation in her voice. She all but skipped down the hallway with light steps, putting further distance between her and her resting partner.

Before she had spoken, the other line was already filled with noises--wheezy gasps coming and going too quickly to be giving anyone any air. She swallowed, but her mouth remained dry.

“...Akihiko?” she repeated, a little louder now that the plush carpet of their living room filled the gaps between her toes. Mitsuru walked until she stood in front of their couch, adrenaline locking her knees before she could sit.

A new sound came from her speaker, at first sounding like feedback, but eventually, Mitsuru could make out syllables and words.

 _“She's--”_ came a broken voice that was unmistakably Akihiko's, interrupted by another shaky gasp, _“--she won't wake up.”_ A sharp sob punctuated his sentence. _“I can't…”_

Mitsuru's pulse thrummed through her entire body. Erratic, thrashing, setting every nerve on edge.

“Akihiko,” she said, deliberately speaking lowly and slowly. “Listen to me. You need to breathe.” Cautious, as if trying to coax a frightened, wounded animal into her care.

Akihiko gasped again, still ragged, but longer this time. A beat passed, then she heard him take another breath that almost sounded normal. Mitsuru allowed herself to release the air she didn't know she was holding.

 _“I, I can't do this, I can't, not again,”_ Akihiko whispered. His voice grew wet, muffled, unintelligible, as if he were talking with his hand covering his mouth.

The grand but crumbling tower named Akihiko Sanada, a structure she had once regarded as a proud and noble constant no matter the wear and tear, had collapsed.

For all her oratory skills, Mitsuru had no words to offer the rubble.

The only time she had witnessed him in a similar state was the the day Minako had passed.

Though she was reluctant to admit it, Akihiko's grief on that day still intruded her thoughts sometimes. Time hadn't melted the edges of the sharpened icicles that would scrape pits in her core at the memories of his wracking, crumpled body clawing itself.

With him in an even worse place now, even after all this time, Mitsuru couldn't help but grimace at herself.

What signs had she missed?

Had she really been so blind to allow him to get so low? Between his lack of outreach and her lack of intervention, who was at fault? Where was the line to draw? Was there one to begin with?

Or, perhaps, had something in specific triggered this?

The idea started as only a whisper in the back of her mind, but it quickly burst to its forefront. After all, the very nature of panic was acute. While the signs of depression were a glaring, beaming signal around him and had been for years, it was a methodical, calculating illness. Decline was a wanton movement, orchestrated to the last note by the disease's deft hands.

No, this was something bludgeoned from him. His fingers snapped one by one in metal doors, teeth pulled by rusty wrenches, kneecaps bashed concave with nailed bats.

Releasing another breath, Mitsuru spoke gently. “Akihiko. I need you to tell me what's happened so I can help you.”

A fractured noise left him in shards, embedding itself into her skin. Her suspicion was correct.

 _“I'm shaking her, and-and--”_ Another watery gasp. _“She won't--I can't--”_

A nightmare? A flashback?

Mitsuru blinked away the burning in her eyes, softly clearing her throat to keep her own composure from faltering.

_He called you for a reason, Kirijo._

For a moment, the only sounds between them were his weeping and quickening breaths. Whimpers left him in croaks that, even through the phone, she could hear splitting the sinews in his neck.

_Think._

Mitsuru knew she wasn't much of a counselor, and a heart in the right place could only go so far without the necessary experience.

But Akihiko knew that, too; even with the five years of distance, their earlier years together had made them intimately aware of each other's strengths and weaknesses. When it was just the two of them and crackling radios against a tower risen from Hell, they knew these details meant the difference between life and death.

Tonight, it was just the two of them and a crackling phone line against old demons left to fester for a lifetime.

He didn't call her because he wanted a counselor. He called her because he wanted _her._

So what could _she_ do?

Mitsuru straightened her back as if Akihiko could see it, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. All poise and aristocracy, shoulders square and firm under her sheer lace night dress. Every bit the heiress to her empire.

She could command.

“Focus on me,” she said. “Nothing else. Do exactly as I say. Understood?”

Another distressed noise, but no protest.

“Inhale.” Guiding him, Mitsuru began drawing in a slow breath through her nose.

“One.” Akihiko's intake shuddered, but it was an inhalation nevertheless.

“Two.” For the first time since he'd called, he sounded stable.

“Three. Hold.” Her held lungs burned, impatient for her next order.

“Exhale. Slowly.”

“One.” The word left her in a puff of air that Akihiko mimicked.

“Two.” Adrenaline's hold on her weakened. Her muscles unwound as the breath left her, and her knees loosened enough for her to sink into the cushioned couch.

“Three.” Her lungs emptied faster than Akihiko's did, allowing her to listen to the last few beats of his easy exhale. It pealed from him free of anguish, and she felt her body lighten.

 _“Trés bien,”_ Mitsuru said, mellow and warm. “Now again. Inhale.”

The second round passed by even smoother than the first. The third, led for good measure, was flawless.

Akihiko no longer gasped or rasped, but the occasional sniffle and sigh told her he was still volatile. Silence draped over them like a heated blanket on a cold day. She took his wordlessness as a “thank you,” just as she had done in junior high when wrapping tape on broken noses and casting Dia on bruised bones.

Mitsuru drew in another breath, this time for her sake. A stabilizer for her clenching heart.

“I have nightmares sometimes as well,” she admitted in a small voice. A wry smile played at her lips as she released a sigh. “It's… quite the task to forget what the blood of a loved one feels like.”

Her gaze fell to the trembling palm of her free hand resting in her lap. Even now, she could feel her father's blood hardening between her fingers. The scented memory of metal and gunpowder tinged the air in her home green.

Akihiko sighed again. _“No, you don't--you don't get it,”_ he said.

Her brow twitched like a whip being primed.

Perhaps she should have expected that response considering his behavior for the last few years, but still, it stung, and something twisted in her chest.

“I'm one of the few who do.”

 _“No, Mitsuru,”_ he said with a firmness that took her aback. _“She's here, she's… Mitsuru, she's_ **_here_** _.”_

Ice.

Ice spindled through her veins. Spine stiff, muscles rigid. Frozen. The chill pooled in her stomach. An electric current followed close behind, and its static forced every hair on her body straight up.

 _“I don't know what to do, she's here… I can't_ **_do_ ** _this again…”_

The more he rambled, the louder the warning sirens blared. Her hand drifted to her stuttering heart, tugging at her collar as if to free her airways.

_She's here?_

The words echoed in her mind, leaving her body hot and cold all at once. Akihiko was still speaking, but his voice was white noise lost in the storm brewing inside her.

_She's here?_

The nightmares of her father could be all-consuming, but no matter how deeply she quaked, no matter how plentiful the tears, she always recognized them for what they were once she woke: _nightmares,_ nothing more.

Had isolation broken him this badly?

“…What do you mean 'she's here'?” Mitsuru finally managed through her drying throat.

He had the audacity to groan as if losing patience, igniting an inner flare. _“I mean she's_ **_here_** _, Mitsuru, she--oh!”_

A harsh clatter, a sharp crack.

Mitsuru leaped to her feet. “Akihiko?” she called, voice fraying at the edges.

The only response was a distant thudding, followed by muffled noises too far away to make out anything being said.

Louder, nearly shouting, “Akihiko!”

More of the same incomprehensible noise.

Mitsuru squeezed her eyes shut, pressing on both temples with one hand in an attempt to stave off a budding migraine gnawing at the edges of her brain.

This was all very, very wrong.

She scowled inwardly, disgust and shame roiling inside her in a tempest.

Their _laissez-faire_ arrangement was no longer an option. It never should have been in the first place.

Phone still pressed to her ear, Mitsuru glided back towards her bedroom, strides long and purposeful. She made quick work in her walk-in closet, tossing her nightdress aside and changing into form-fitting black jeans and a simple white t-shirt. But when she stepped outside the closet, her attention immediately drew itself to Yukari, still asleep on their bed.

Mitsuru knew her. Ghosting away with only a note explaining the situation would not suffice, no matter how noble the intention. All it would do was insult her.

Sighing, she made her way to the bed, gingerly took hold of Yukari's shoulder, and shook her gently. It wasn't long before Yukari stirred with a grunt and rubbed at her eyes.

“Mitsuru?” she slurred, blinking blearily in the direction of the alarm clock. “What's…?”

The corners of Mitsuru's lips flickered up before falling again. “I'm going out,” she whispered. “There's…” She hesitated.

Her wording needed to be especially careful here. Yukari would take on Mitsuru's problems as her own. Troubling her the night before a very busy, valuable day for her career would only work to sabotage her.

“Something urgent has come up. I'm uncertain when I'll be back, but I doubt it will be much later than tomorrow evening.”

“What? It's almost midnight,” Yukari groaned, voice thick with sleep. She sloppily rubbed her eyes again with the back of her hand and unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. “Can't it wait?”

Mitsuru's breath hitched, catching her words before she could speak. Judging by the concerned fold in her partner's brow as she glanced at the phone still being held, it hadn't gone unnoticed.

“Mitsuru? Is everything okay?”

A younger Mitsuru would have doubled down on her omission. But, she was older now and liked to think herself wiser. Yukari would easily see through it.

“Akihiko called.”

Yukari sat straight up, brunette hair a wild mane of tangles and flyaways.

Mitsuru glanced away. “I have reason to believe he's unsafe.”

“Oh, God,” Yukari muttered under her breath. “What, is he picking fights with entire gangs again?”

Despite herself, Mitsuru couldn't help but huff a chuckle. Nostalgia could certainly come from creative places.

“No, nothing like that. He had a nightmare and he… did not handle it well,” said Mitsuru softly. “I suspect it's the first he's had in at least a considerable time. I tried to calm him, but…” She'd failed. Unspoken, but as she bit back the tremble in her lips, she knew that said it all.

Yukari paused, incredulous. “A _nightmare?_ He called you--” Realization dawned on her features, face blanching as her hand shot to cover her mouth. “Oh, it's… You mean…”

Mitsuru cleared her throat to loosen the tightness in her chest, and she nodded. “He insisted she was with him.”

“He _what?”_ she all but shouted, shrill enough to send a shudder down Mitsuru’s spine. Yukari dragged a hand down her face. Working her jaw, she glanced over to her own phone laying on the table on her side of the bed and sighed. “I'm coming, too.”

Exactly as she feared. “Yukari, I couldn’t ask--”

“You're _not_ asking, and neither am I. I'm telling you. I'm coming with you.” She matched her gaze firmly with Mitsuru's, brown eyes as rigid and unmoving as the earth they shared their color with, and Mitsuru nearly flinched. Yukari grabbed her phone, and her thumbs flew wildly across the screen.

“This--shouldn't take precedence--”

“The interview can wait. This can't,” Yukari interrupted again, holding her phone to her ear. Her expression eased as she gave Mitsuru a gentle smile, soft with sympathy. “C’mon. You've never made me deal with anything alone, so… why should I?”

Butterflies fluttered through her. Before their friendship, Mitsuru would have been almost envious at the ease with which Yukari could say such things. But now, with their relationship only growing deeper by the day, there was nothing but overflowing affection and a distinct awareness of her luckiness.

Her smile was sheepish as she ducked her head away. “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling a bit like a swooning schoolgirl rather than the head of a multinational company. Yukari giggled and took hold of one of Mitsuru's hands, bringing her knuckles to her lips. Chapped and dry, but warm enough to melt her.

Suddenly, Yukari's eyes glazed over, shifting to stare ahead at nothing. She dropped Mitsuru's hand and broke into a plastic grin. “Hey, it's me! Ah, sorry for calling so late, but can you talk? It's about tomorrow…”

As she talked, Yukari rolled out of bed, made her way to the dresser, and nearly tripped over herself getting into sweatpants one-handed. After several “yes I'm serious”es and a few “what do you think I pay you for”s, she hung up looking pleased with herself. Grabbing her pink purse and tugging on slippers, a trail of fire lined behind her as she sped out the room.

“And _I’m_ driving!” Yukari called over the pads of her slippers scraping against their carpet. “The people you hire don’t speed.”

Dazzling. Mitsuru only felt her smile as she sprinted after her.

She couldn’t recall the last time she had sat in the passenger’s seat, let alone in Yukari’s old car. It was one of the few things left of her father, and it truly showed. Green paint bleached pastel in the sun, wood lining the doors, rust flecked on the edges, but with Yukari at the wheel, it felt no different from a car she’d drive while playing a hero on television.

“Wait.” Yukari stopped with her keys unturned in the ignition. “Do we even know where he is?”

“I--”

Mitsuru blinked. Embarrassment hit her with a pang of heat rising in her cheeks. The chattering coming from Akihiko’s side smothered anything coherent in her mind. That was indeed a good question.

“I… suppose I assumed the apartment, but I never…” When had she allowed herself to get so impulsive? “My apologies.”

“Hey, hey, it's no big deal!” She tossed Mitsuru an easy smile and squeezed her free hand. “There's a front desk, right? I'll just call.”

Her partner was back on the phone. From where she was sitting, Mitsuru could hear the droning ringback break away into feminine speech.

“Hi!” Yukari chimed, smiling into the receiver. “I'm calling for Mitsuru Kirijo, of the Kirijo Group? …Yes--yeah! Just wanted to check in, has the guest using the apartment come in tonight? Sanada--oh!” Her face lit up, and Mitsuru breathed again. “Sweet, that's great. Th--” She froze. Her smile sagged.

The feminine voice was still speaking, though Mitsuru couldn't understand any of the words. “What is it?” she murmured, but Yukari only responded with a hand telling her to wait.

“A _girl?”_

Another chill ran through her blood.

Yukari shook her head. “He brought a _girl_ in--oh, no, no, that's… it's not a problem, it's fine, it's--sorry, I just--I didn't expect… sorry, sorry! It's okay, no, totally didn't break any rules!”

Mitsuru flexed her numbing hands to keep them from freezing.

After choking more on awkward dialogue and a thank-you, the call ended. Yukari glanced around as if she didn't know what to focus on until she frowned at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Her fidgety fingers ran through her hair, smoothing out frizz and untangling knots.

Just as the tension began aching Mitsuru's teeth, Yukari cleared her throat. “I… didn't really think he was that kind of guy. I mean, there's nothing _wrong_ with that, but…” She went silent, focusing intently on her reflection.

Mitsuru said nothing. Akihiko _wasn't_ that type.

Even with how her thoughts recoiled at the idea of it, his last words to her rattled around in her head.

Her shoulders slumped from the weight of the silence between them, and she knew they were both feeling that same knot in their stomachs.

Without fanfare, Yukari rolled out of their driveway, and their somber march to Iwatodai had begun.

Easing back into her seat, Mitsuru stared unseeing out her window. The hypnotic drone of tires to asphalt drowned her thoughts. Meditation was a rare privilege, but with every mutter coming from Akihiko's line sending aching shockwaves through her skull, it was one she was willing to indulge.

The opportunity never came. A shout rang out from her speaker.

Nearly jumping from her seat, she dug her knuckles against her lips until the skin inside her mouth cried out from the points of her teeth.

A second shout followed only a moment behind. No matter how she strained her ears, the only thing Mitsuru could gather was that there were two distinctly different voices. The words said and the ones who said them eluded her.

“Mitsuru…” Yukari suddenly said, her grip on the wheel tightening with an audible creak. “If he's wasting our time again…”

Twenty-seven minutes. That was the length of the trip from her home to Iwatodai, and yet the twelve minutes that had already passed felt like sixty.

The shouting was loud, impassioned--that much she could tell even with his phone being so far away from it. A struggle? Akihiko was nothing if not physically capable. If something was happening, he’d surely be able to buy time--

“Hey, are you listening?”

Yukari’s voice was a snap in her ear. Blinking away her thoughts, Mitsuru forced her hand away from her mouth and turned towards her partner with an inquisitive hum.

“I'm serious, Mitsuru,” she huffed, shooting a meaningful glance at her before looking back at the road. “Maybe _he_ doesn't care about how much this hurts you, but _I_ do. I'm getting sick of seeing you like this.”

The taste of iron suddenly stung her tongue, and Mitsuru caught herself gnawing on her lower lip. She nursed it gently with a lick as she drew her attention back to the window.

A shaky breath, then she managed, “My role in this situation cannot be downplayed. Had I been a more attentive presence… perhaps it could have been avoided altogether.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Yukari shake her head. “You can't help someone who doesn't want it. This is _his_ fault, not yours. _He's_ the one who's just… running away from everything. You shouldn't have to take the blame for him. You're both too old for that crap.”

She made it all sound so simple, so common-sense in the way only she could. Deep down, Mitsuru knew Yukari wasn't _wrong,_ and yet…

Yukari had the benefit of distance. She could see the full expanse of the web, the greater whole, the patterns and mistakes. But it was only those trapped inside it who could understand its dense complexity. For Mitsuru and Akihiko, it wasn't a matter of assigning blame and letting go--no, it was far too late for that. Now, all they could do was try to escape before the webbing strangled them both.

Mitsuru’s hold on her phone had never been more firm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE for comments! Please let me know what you think, positive or negative! I promise I won't bite. Unless you're into that.
> 
> And THANK YOU to one of my best friends [sunflowersandsunshining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersandsunshining) for putting up with my silly self-consciousness and helping me edit this bad boy.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! See you next chapter!


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